


Dawn and Eventide

by sunbreaksdown



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, F/F, Pre-Scratch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbreaksdown/pseuds/sunbreaksdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Sufferer sleeps, he dreams of his old life. Mindfang and Darkspurn have to die before they can catch so much as a glimpse of their next one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn and Eventide

     Darkspurn sits in her garden, staring down at her ashen hands.

     She doesn't know why she thinks to note the colour, and has even less of a clue why it seems to _strange_ to her. Legs crossed in the short grass, she continues to study her hands, first the palms, then the backs, followed by each finger, one-by-one. She can't say what she's searching for, but then realises that there's a good reason for that: she isn't searching for anything at all, because there's nothing to find. Her hands are clean, smooth, nails cut short. There isn't even any dirt there, which strikes her as odd. Darkspurn looks to the flowerbed before her, and sees that the soil has recently been turned. There should be some trace of it on her.

     She forgets her hands, instead turning her attention to the garden around her. The oddest feeling ripples through her body, down to the tips of her horns, and the world around her seems slow and heavy because of it. She's been here before, which is a ridiculous thing to feel; this is her garden, she comes out here every night, sneaks out into the sun when she thinks she can get away with it. Even more so than that, she knows what's going to happen next, though it is hardly an unusual occurrence. Anyone could guess at it, but this feels like something beyond guessing.

     Mindfang will be over soon. She'll come the way she always does, through the sparse littering of trees to the north of Darkspurn's desert oasis, and they'll talk about what they always do. Mindfang will give her a smile, will tell her not to pay any heed to the others; they're only trying to watch out for her, after all, even if their own fear does seep through into their well-meant concern. She'll say that Darkspurn shouldn't worry too deeply about the past, about her ancestor, because it doesn't matter if she was a rainbow drinker or not. Darkspurn's fate isn't sealed. After all, Mindfang's own ancestor was a war hero, one of the few who finally drew it to a close and brought on centuries upon centuries of peace to Alternia, the peace that they all take for granted now, but she herself certainly isn't a soldier.

     She'll add this last bit with a dramatic sigh, and Darkspurn will know, as she always does, how much this disappoints her. How she longs for a life of adventuring, how she wants to revel in danger beyond that of any jagged cliff face she can find. At times, Darkspurn thinks this is the only reason Mindfang proclaims to be her best friend, the only reason she doesn't grow wary around her as their other friends do. Part of Mindfang _wants_ Darkspurn to become a rainbow drinker, and even if she'll lecture her at length about how they're probably not dangerous at all, she hopes for the very opposite. Darkspurn finds it hard to mind, because Mindfang is the only one who doesn't act as if stepping out into the hot Alternian sun will cause her to glow long after the light fades.

     The sun is the only thing that really threatens them on this planet, but it's easy to gloss over. The dark of the night is comforting, makes them all feel closer, as if they're wrapped under the same blanket. Before she finally relented to Mindfang's pleas and went adventuring with her (a term that should probably be used loosely, because it mostly involved digging in random hillsides and floating aimlessly on a rented fishing boat) and discovered her ancestor's diary, the others had always said that the sun wasn't any good for her, that she should be a nice, sensible, nocturnal troll. She'd never listened, never paid any heed, because the sun was wonderful and warming on her skin; but then she'd made the mistake of getting far too excited and let everyone read the diary, and it'd all gone downhill and startlingly dark from there on.

     Darkspurn shakes her head, banishes the recollection. For a moment, her vision flickers, and it's as if she was so deep in her thoughts that she temporarily found herself elsewhere, and her garden has to piece itself back together.

     “Good evening, Darkspurn,” comes a voice from behind her, a pair of hands clamping down on her shoulders, “I should thank you not to jump, for my approach was hardly unheralded. The trees that have the audacity to grow in the sparse soil sprinkled throughout the sands have been shedding, of late, and their scatterings were scarcely impossible to avoid snapping underfoot.”

     Darkspurn smiles, relaxing. Whatever unease she felt for the world around her melts away when Mindfang's ridiculous words ring in her ears. She sits next to her, dressed as a pirate, all knee-high boots, frilly shirts and long, heavy sleeves on an outrageous jacket. Darkspurn thinks it's terribly unfair, because pirates are vicious, brutal creatures, and yet nobody looks twice at Mindfang for dressing so. It's because pirates are fictional, she reasons, because nobody on Alternia would ever even think to take up a profession that dangerous, so they all know that Mindfang's intentions are all in jest. She knows it's only a game.

     “Yes, hello, Mindfang. I apologise for being found with my head in the visible clusters of water particles, even if the moons are so pale tonight that I cannot actually see any of the aforementioned clouds in the sky.” Something moves her to look back at her hands, and she sees them turning the soil. She wonders how long she's been doing so, and then wipes her hands on the front of her dress before reaching back out. “Here. Allow me to make your ostentatious outfit all the more ridiculous.”

     Mindfang huffs loudly through her nose, too offended by the slight against her favourite costume to even think to question what Darkspurn plans to do. Darkspurn leans forward, across the patch of bare soil she's been tending to, and lets a hand hover over a sprinkling of bright blue flowers. After a moment's deliberation during which Mindfang now has her arms folded across her chest, Darkspurn snaps the stem at the base of the flower with the largest petals. Her contemplation was feigned; she knew which flower to pick, even before she came up with the idea.

     Turning back to Mindfang, whose expression softens somewhat for being paid attention to, Darkspurn pushes herself up onto her knees, pushing the flower into the strip of fabric wrapped around her hat, next to the absurdly large blue feather.

     “My gratitude is plentiful, and my reputation made all the more fearsome for your addition.”

     Mindfang rolls her eyes, adjusting the edge of her hat, as if Darkspurn has knocked it out of place. With their greetings for the night out of the way, they slip into conversation with ease. Too much ease, even, and Darkspurn begins to realise that she wasn't just paraphrasing their potential conversation in her heard earlier on. Far from it, actually. She was reciting parts verbatim. She looks at Mindfang curiously from the corner of her eye, and then experiments. She alters what she expects herself to say, and then says things that don't fit in at all. Mindfang never notices, and gives the answers Darkspurn imagined she would, regardless of the context.

     She feels, for a moment, as if she is a third person in the conversation. That she's sat there in the grass, watching as Mindfang and Darkspurn talk away, trying to alter the course of what's said and failing in spite of her best efforts. She does her best to push this all away, sinks back into the conversation until she doesn't remember that she's heard it all before, and just like that, Mindfang is gone, and the sun is soon to rise. Darkspurn doesn't remember Mindfang leaving, but supposes she must have, because the faint sound of twigs snapping echoes in her ears.

     Darkspurn spends a lot of time staring back down at her hands, and then sun is above her, far quicker than it should be. It hasn't even been given time enough to rise yet. She supposes it has something to do with wishing it above her, and then the realisation of what's really happening hits her all at once. It doesn't distress her as much as she expected it to.

     Oh, that's right, she thinks: I've been dead all this time.

*

     They're together again some time after, sat on a bench, far from either of their hives.

     Mindfang likes eating outside. She says that it adds an element of danger to the meal, though the only threat that lingers in the air is a handful of bees, and that's more of a nuisance than anything else. Darkspurn looks down at the tabletop, decides that she isn't hungry, and when she looks for a second time, the food has long since been cleared away. She wonders how they got there, tries to recall what happened mere moments before this one, but she can't grasp at anything of substance. She thinks back to the garden, and then it all comes back to her. Smiling softly, she remembers what's going to come of this, and decides to let it play out.

     Darkspurn was wrong about the food; there needs to be food there for this to work, and so she conjures up dessert in her mind. The cotton candy's been there all along, and she glances down at it as Mindfang grows oddly quiet. She'd been rambling on about her latest romantic endeavour before this. For some reason, despite not liking Dualscar in any friendly way, she'd thought that it might lead to an interesting configuration, romantically; but she was regretful to inform Darkspurn that it had been a completely atrocious idea from the beginning, and she had come out of it disliking him all the more. She's always been like this for as long as Darkspurn can remember, always trying to hunt out romance, always trying to ensnare others into her so-called web of passion.

     Mindfang is never desperate about it. More experimental, really. She's determined to find love, and says that she won't be lax about it; she'll go through every troll she meets, if she has to. She always manages to shrug it off afterwards, as well, much unlike Dualscar, who Darkspurn expects will be sulking for perigees to come. It's horribly selfish of her, but she wishes that Mindfang wouldn't be so brash in these matters. Every time she has more tales to regale Darkspurn with, she grows almost entirely silent, not able to do much more than nod and hum in the inappropriate places.

     She's just as interested in romance as Mindfang is, there's no doubt about that. The two of them spend long hours sat back-to-back in Mindfang's rather expansive library reading from novels with prose so amaranthine it makes the Empress' blood look dull. They both know they're terrible, trashy, even, but enjoy them shamelessly regardless of that. Darkspurn just happens to have a different view of things. She believes that love comes of its own accord, and waits patiently for it. She wishes that Mindfang would do the same, if only for a moment, if only so that she had enough time to look around at who was actually around her.

     But back to the present, which also happens to be the past.

     Darkspurn stares at the cotton candy. Last time, it had been part of the main dish, and she distinctly remembers not feeling that she could eat any more, after Mindfang packed far too much for the two of them. But her fingers crept towards the food anyway, as they do now, and Darkspurn blinks in confusion though she doesn't really feel it for a second time. She even goes to the effort of supposing that she could manage just one more bite.

     With Mindfang's eyes on her, she tears off an edge of the cotton candy, popping it into her mouth. She chews slowly, automatically, hands dropping back onto the tabletop. This time, she's conscious enough of her surroundings to take in the slight reactions that give Mindfang away; the faint inhalation of breath that sounds a little too much like a gasp, the way she leans forward, desperate to see what Darkspurn does next.

     She pulls off another pieces, eats it on cue. She isn't hungry, doesn't want any more, feels sick for every additional bite she takes, and yet she chews down clump after clump of it. She knows well enough that her actions aren't her own, and tries to recall how she felt the first time it happened. How her eyes went wide, because she was still in control of them, and how she'd been desperate to ask Mindfang for help because her body was no longer her own and that terrified her; and the way she had felt pathetic for it, because all she was being made to do was eat cotton candy.

     Darkspurn had been aware that her actions were not her own, even if she didn't realise what or who was making her move straight away.

     She replicates that same horror, and Mindfang leans down, until her chin almost rests on the top of the bench and she's staring up at her, eyes wide, unblinking. It was then that Darkspurn realised what was happening, and it's now that she feigns that same realisation. Mindfang moves back immediately, as if she herself has been startled, and then the control she held onto for brief moments slips away into nothing. She buries her face in her hands, groaning and laughing all at once.

     Darkspurn gets to her feet quicker than she did the last time, takes a seat next to Mindfang and wraps her arms around her.

     “There, there,” she says, already aware of what this is about, and not wanting to put Mindfang through any additional stress. It's funny how Mindfang's always longed for danger, has claimed to be willing to do anything to be put through it, when all along it's been burning away inside of her. Mindfang grumbles miserably into her shoulder and Darkspurn pats the back of her head, taking a private moment to reflect on the fact that Mindfang would never let herself act in such an unrefined manner around anyone else. “Mind control, is it? Do not worry yourself, Mindfang, I won't tell any of the others, even if it is sorely tempting. Such a danger posed by another in our group would surely take the heat of me, if only for a few weeks.”

     Mindfang laughs at that, well aware of the fact that Darkspurn has always been too kind to her to even consider doing such a thing. She places a hand on her shoulder, gently easing herself back, having taken the necessary time to recover. It didn't go like this the first time around; there was shouting, and Darkspurn hates to admit to having been scared, at first, for not understanding, feeling that she had been toyed with; and something in Mindfang's eyes tells Darkspurn that she realises something about this is off. Darkspurn imagines a clawing at the back of her head, a memory that she doesn't want to surface, and so she simply allows the scene to rearrange itself as Mindfang sees fit.

     “Why thank you,” Mindfang says, picking her hat from the edge of the table and nonchalantly dusting it off. “Though I dare say that they'd scarcely believe you. Tricks from a rainbow drinker, and all, trying to turn us against one another. But, to find an upside in this little deformation of mine, if you _do_ ever become a creature of the day, I propose that we abandon this land before it can hope to expel us and put a scourge upon the seas.”

     Darkspurn rolls her eyes. Any excuse to get her into pirating, it seems.

     “Oh, I am actually quite certain that they can and will believe it, in due time,” Darkspurn says, deciding that it's time to say more than she strictly needs to. Mindfang turns her attention from her hat, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, we're all deprived of life by this point.”

     “Hah—!” Mindfang laughs, delighted by the prospect. “Is that so? What happened, Darkspurn? How have we met our makers? Being out in the woods are we are, I'd fathom a guess and say that cholerbear wandered from betwixt the trees, saw that we had depleted the tabletop of any nutritional value, and saw fit to devour the two poor trolls sat around it. How's that?”

     She thinks it's all a game. That they're roleplaying. Or that's what Mindfang wants to think, at any rate; Darkspurn sees something light up in her eyes, some faint hint of recollection. She shakes her head slowly, though she can't completely repress a smile.

     “Creative, and enough to make me slightly apprehensive, despite knowing better. But I am not creating a scenario for you to build upon. I am telling the truth.”

     “I'm certain of it,” Mindfang says, standing to leave. This isn't right. They should be out here for hours still, and as such, Mindfang has nowhere to go. Nowhere beyond the expanse of trees and the grass beneath their feet exists for either of them.

     Darkspurn takes hold of her wrist, pulling her back down onto the bench. Mindfang looks at her through a narrowed gaze, taken aback by how unusually bold she's being, and doesn't attempt to get to her feet again. Sighing fondly, Darkspurn places a hand to her cheek, a thumb brushing beneath Mindfang's left eye, causing her vision to dart about wildly. She remembers when Mindfang lost her eye, when they were finally in the game, and knows that Mindfang will too in time.

     It doesn't take long. Darkspurn closes her eyes, letting the pistons in Mindfang's think pan fire as she desperately tries to scrape the remnants of truth together, and then she feels it seep across her fingers. Mindfang tenses next to her, howls in remembrance of a pain that Darkspurn expects she no longer feels. She brushes her thumb from side to side, wiping the blood away, and when she opens her eyes, Mindfang's expression is twisted into one of sheer horror, a pool of blackness taking the place of where her eye should be.

     Darkspurn doubts that taking Mindfang into her arms and hushing her with a _there, there_ will work for a second time, and so she sits where she is, waiting for her to gather herself back together. Mindfang seethes, clutching at her chest, and Darkspurn wonders if the enormity of her reaction has anything to do with the fact that she accepts their fate so easily, and that's the part that she really can't accept.

     Mindfang takes a deep, shaky breath, slumping forward, and Darkspurn is ready to catch her.

     “What did we _do_?” she asks, incredulous to the truth, as if she hasn't lived and died through it all already.

     “What we thought we had to,” Darkspurn says, patting her head in an attempt to seem cheerful. Mindfang offers her a scowl in response, and Darkspurn just shakes her head slowly, leaning in to kiss her.

     Because she can. Because they've done this before, even if it wasn't during this part of the timeline. Mindfang would be startled, if she'd ever allow herself to react in such a way, and when they pull apart, Darkspurn says nothing of the faint taste of blue blood left over on her lips.

     “We couldn't win,” Mindfang murmurs, and then glances down at her body, at the changes she's undergone since Darkspurn pressed their mouths together. “—ah.”

     Darkspurn smiles thickly, swallowing a lump in her throat as Mindfang lifts a hand, pressing it to the joint of her shoulder where her body ends far too abruptly, and, oh, she's leaking blue blood all over the tablecloth she brought out with her.

     “From what I understand of this in-between place, the past only repeats itself if you want it to. You only see what you permit to be seen, and I assume the same goes for tactile sensations.”

     Mindfang grits her teeth, but even through the pain and the confusion that no doubt comes with it, she manages to take a deep breath as she latches onto Darkspurn's words. Darkspurn knows that Mindfang trusts her, knows she's the only one who's ever really got her to listen, and she places a hand on her shoulder. Just to let her know she's there.

     “Absurd. This is—” Mindfang pauses here, covering up a jolt of pain with a single syllable of laughter, too clearly pronounced to be born of anything close to amusement. “Nothing. A barren attempt to discombobulate me, invoked by nothing more than my own asinine subconscious. My arm will be back in no time, and stronger for it; and my eye will be more piercing than ever before.”

     Darkspurn's hand moves from Mindfang's shoulder to her cheek, and she does what she can to comfort her without the need for words. She allows Mindfang to employ these. After all, she always has loved her dramatics.

*

     The third bubble is dark.

     The world is so shrouded in black that Darkspurn believes her eyes to be shut, certain that she must be dead without dreaming. It's not until a distant echo of a breeze passes her by that her other senses allow themselves to awaken: she hears the wind rush through the hollowed out earth, seeking an escape Darkspurn herself does not feel she's in need of; water drips in the distance, hitting what must be rock; her hands reach out and all around her is a rough, jagged surface; heat rises up from deep below, but doesn't quite warm her.

     “How absolutely marvellous. We've found ourselves trapped in a cavern.”

     Mindfang pieces it together half a second before Darkspurn does, and she jumps at the sound of her voice. She hadn't realised she was there, and even in the pitch black, Mindfang doesn't fail to notice the jolt run through her. Darkspurn turns to where the voice comes from, where Mindfang's low laughter claws at the cave walls but doesn't cling on tightly enough to echo, squints, but cannot make out any part of her. Somehow, Mindfang manages to reach out and take her hand. Though Darkspurn supposes that she could've been grasping at nothing but air for long minutes.

     “I don't suppose you have any idea where we are?” Mindfang asks with a dreary sigh. Darkspurn squeezes her hand. It's the right one. She's doing a lot better than she was in the last bubble they were caught up in. “Apart from in the dark, apart from some sort of purgatory. Now's no time for your wit.”

     Darkspurn's instinct is to say _No_ , but she opens her mouth and something stops her from fully forming the word. There's a tugging at the back of her mind, something that says she needs to think harder, to dig deeper. She frowns, feeling the start of a headache ebb at her temples, and is sincerely sorry to Mindfang if this is how she made her feel on the bench. Before, outside of her hive, at their picnic spot, Darkspurn had instantly known where she was. She hadn't even had to think about it, because there was nothing to it. It had felt as natural being there as residing in her own body did. She doesn't know whether it's a side effect of the absolute darkness, but she's certain that if she moves too quickly, she'll step right out of her flesh and blood frame.

     “If I had to guess, I would say we were currently deep in the elating caverns,” Darkspurn says, as if reading the words aloud from a cue card.

     “The elating caverns? As good a guess as any, I suppose,” Mindfang says in a tone that implies she stops to chew on her lower lip, and Darkspurn smirks because Mindfang can't see it. Perhaps Mindfang is afraid of being clambered all over by a whole colour wheel's worth of grubs. “Though it doesn't particularly _feel_ like the elating caverns. Not that I've been down there – or here, theoretically – in many long sweeps, but I don't recall such absolute darkness. Oh, well. Perhaps if we walk for long enough we'll be lucky enough to stumble across a Mother Grub. And naturally, I have plenty of luck to go around. It wouldn't be such a terrible consolation prize, having dealt with such absolute darkness.”

     Darkspurn agrees with her in all regards, but can't bring herself to dismiss her initial conclusion. They are in the elating caverns, there's no doubt of that in her mind, but it just doesn't feel right. The two of them walk for some time, step by careful step, taking care not to trip on loose rocks, and as they come closer to the source of the heat, they find that it is of the stifling sort, not a warming one. It takes all of the air out of the tunnels they head down, but Mindfang says they have to keep walking, so that they find a light source. Darkspurn walks on and on, barely even questioning why she always knows which turn to take when the tunnels fork off.

     But then, Mindfang has an idea.

     “Darkspurn,” she says with a slight clear of her throat, in the tone that always lets Darkspurn know in advance that she's been hit with one of her think pan waves. It's a similar sensation to panic. Mindfang releases her hand, takes one step closer and bumps into her back, arms looping around her waist, chin propped on her shoulder. Darkspurn can feel her smile against the corner of her jaw. “Darkspurn, why are we wandering through these caves like blindfolded wigglers? We're no better off than our dear Redglare, and she at least as the common sense to see by taste. Not that I'm for a moment suggesting we lick the walls, naturally.”

     “What are you suggesting, if it does not involve making sandpaper of our tongues? Because I can tell you're already buttering me up like a roll that's been sliced open for a helping of oinkbeast meat, and so I guess you're going to be asking some sort of favour of me.”

     Darkspurn shrugs at the end of her statement, but the smile isn't knocked from Mindfang's face.

     “Indeed. Do you remember when you died?” Mindfang asks, and then shushes Darkspurn before she can cut in with some remark about them having the same conversation in reverse in the last bubble. “The _first_ time, that is. Stabbed right through the heart, weren't you?”

     There's a slight tenseness to Mindfang's words, like she hasn't quite managed to deal with what happened yet, no matter how it turned out. Darkspurn nods slowly, and realises what Mindfang's getting at before she can even think to ask. She swallows the lump in her throat, and Mindfang gives her temple a little nudge with the side of her head, knocking their horns together. _Come on_ , she murmurs, as if spurring her on.

     She's glad that Mindfang no longer holds her hand, because they now tremble at her sides. But this is for the best, she tells herself; it's the most logical course of action to take, and certain things were bound to come to the surface sooner or later. Eyes closed, Darkspurn sees a different sort of darkness in front of her, and then pictures it happening all in slow motion. Pictures the blade slowly flying towards her in the air, something she couldn't have hoped to defend against, moving far too quickly for her to step to the side or fall to the ground. And just as she projects it in her mind, she feels it in her chest, forcing her to let out a startled pained noise. Mindfang's arms wrap tighter around her waist, blood leaves its stain on the front of her chest. It's warm, but warmth isn't the only thing she needs right now. She needs light, needs the brightness; it has to spill from her every pore, else it's no good to either of them.

     Mindfang lets out a delighted, cautious laugh, and Darkspurn sees the glow even with her eyes screwed shut. When she blinks them open, she looks down, and sees that the blood has faded, that there isn't even a tear in her shirt. She's wearing something else altogether, and there she is, a rainbow drinker in a dark cave, stood aside the one person who doesn't treat her any differently because of it.

     Well. Maybe there's a bit more of a spark in Mindfang's eyes when she looks at her.

     “Wonderful,” she breathes, opting to take her hand again. “We should come across the Mother Grub in no time at all.”

     The glow around her is in a constant state of flickering, bouncing on the walls and creating as many shadows as it does pools of light. But they walk on quicker because of it, Mindfang humming an old pirating tune Darkspurn's certain she's made up herself, and Darkspurn looking ahead for something she's sure she's come across before. She must have, else they wouldn't be there. Tilting her head towards Mindfang's shoulders and making her ash-grey skin wan, she pokes fun at her, saying they may well find treasure at the end of the next tunnel.

     It's a case of Darkspurn talking too soon, because what they find certainly isn't gold and jewels. Darkspurn's light fills the larger cave they've stepped into, seeming unnaturally bright, and all that she can see are pools of rainbow blood on the floor, every colour splattered against the surrounding rocks and ceiling, littered with the bodies of grubs, most of them not even whole.

     She squeezes Mindfang's hand, and Mindfang takes a step backwards. Darkspurn finds herself frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but stare, unable to comprehend what she sees, knowing she'll be in floods of tears the moment she blinks. Mindfang tugs at her arm, and then tugs again when she refuses to move. Darkspurn wishes that she could leave, wants nothing more than to escape from that moment, and is grateful when she feels something not of her own making slip into her mind. Her legs move of their own accord, heavy, like lead, leading her back out of the cave.

     “Perhaps,” Mindfang says, like she's slowly chewing on the word, “This memory wasn't meant for us.”

     Darkspurn doesn't know how it works. Doesn't know whether she can end up in the memories of others or not, especially when they're nowhere to be seen. Her gut instinct, however, is that Mindfang is wrong, but she doesn't allow herself to voice that much.

     “That must be it.”

*

     Another bubble comes along, and then another. They forget the darkness, forget the reality of their world. In the same way that their world no longer exists, neither do they. But they ignore all of this, and live in glimpses of stolen moments. They relive their pasts, down on the surface of Alternia, when it was all tranquillity and warmth, content so long as they never think to the future.

     Darkspurn doesn't know what they were doing or where they were going. It's becoming a pattern. All she knows is that in these bubbles, under the light of two moons that glow brighter because her memory augments them, she feels that there's a chance for them to be free. For them to be together; it's not something they really got the last time around. It doesn't matter that they must be there for a reason, that there must be some task to fulfil, some memory for them to revive, else they wouldn't be there. On nights like these, all that Darkspurn cares about is the fact that Mindfang is full of bravado, that she believes herself to be fearsome, infallible, and she can think the same of her without a moment's hesitation.

     They've ended up fighting. Playfully, in the long grass. Mindfang starts off as a pirate, and then announces herself to be a rainbow drinker slayer, albeit one who still sails the treacherous Alternian seas. She only brings up this last point when Darkspurn asks her what a rainbow drinker slayer's doing with such a large hat on. Casting aside her wooden sword, Mindfang charges through the undergrowth, already crouched down low, and Darkspurn is ready to take the brunt of the impact when she dives straight for her waist.

     The two of them tumble and fall to the ground, wrestling in the moonlight, until Darkspurn has had quite enough of playing pretend, and allows Mindfang to pin her down. She grins from up above her, and Darkspurn sees her teeth gleam from between parted lips. There's a pause; Mindfang must want to say something specific, but is hesitating for some reason or another. Darkspurn lets out a soft humming sound, urging her on.

     “Do you remember when I became a god?”

     Darkspurn takes a moment to take in the question and play it over in her mind, chest still rising and falling from their scuffle. She remembers how it had been after it happened, after Mindfang was back in one piece and stronger and more vibrant than ever, but she hadn't been there when it all unravelled. She's glad she wasn't, in a way; she doesn't think that she would've been able to cope with seeing that, as much as she wishes she was there for Mindfang at the time.

     “Show me,” Darkspurn says, smiling faintly.

     Apparently pleased by this answer, Mindfang lifts her brow. “Close your eyes.”

     When Darkspurn shakes her head in stubborn refusal, Mindfang rolls her eyes and bows her head, leaning in closer to kiss her. At that, Darkspurn doesn't have much of a choice but to let her eyes flutter to a close, arms wrapping around Mindfang's back. The kiss lasts for a few moments, and certainly longer than Mindfang had intended it to, but she eventually brings herself to pull away, though her lips still brush against Darkspurn's when she speaks.

     “Now keep them closed.”

     Darkspurn feels her shift above her, hears her breathing become staggered and strained. Reliving memories isn't as easy as it seems, especially not when the results scratch themselves across their bodies, and it barely surprises Darkspurn at all when she feels blood drip down on her. Mindfang's lost her eye and arm for a third time now, but all she has to do is push through this and they'll be back, just like when it really happened. Just like the first time she transcended.

     Darkspurn feels her throat close up tightly, fearing for a moment that Mindfang might not make it through again. But then Mindfang's shirt rustles beneath her hands, and beneath that something shifts under her skin. She moves her hands away, knowing what comes next, and it's all she can do to screw her eyes shut and not open them until Mindfang says she can.

     And she does, a few moments later, sounding rather pleased with herself.

     Darkspurn blinks her eyes open, a soft smile spreading across her face as she stares up at the beautiful blue wings fluttering on Mindfang's back. She reaches up, fingers tracing down the edges, causing Mindfang to scrunch up her face.

     “What do you think?” she asks in a tone that say she already knows the answer.

     Wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders, Darkspurn pushes her back, so that they're both knelt on the ground.

     “Do you think they'll support both of us?”

     Mindfang supposes that there's only one way to find out.

*

     It's dark again.

     Not in the pitch-black blinding way that it was in the elating caverns, but in the same way that leaves her uncertain of herself, of why she is where she is. Darkspurn moves, and hears the irons resist her movements before she feels them stop her wrists from pulling apart. She frowns, too removed from the whole situation to truly feel distressed. This isn't her memory, though she fits into it seamlessly.

     There are other trolls around her, stood shoulder to shoulder with one another. When one of them moves so much as an inch, it ripples through the whole crowd, and Darkspurn fears that she might topple over. There isn't any soft dirt and long grass to break her fall here. Occasionally, one of the trolls around her will mumble under their breath, but she can never latch on their words. The bubble must be struggling to hold this scene together, because the memories aren't hers. Parts of the scenario must be patched together, manufactured for her benefit.

     Darkspurn doesn't know how long she stands there for, wrists bound, but gets the distinct feeling that it would be better to stand there forever than to be called from the room. But someone does come, and she knows they're there for her before they call out the word _Slave_ and point an accusing finger at her. Not wanting to make things worse for herself, though she doesn't know the extent of how bad they could possibly be, she moves the moment she's told to, taking slow steps forward. The shapeless clothing that's been put upon her falls around her frame in heavy creases and flat angles, and makes it difficult to move too quickly.

     The irons don't do much to help. They're around her ankles, too.

     Eventually, she's led into a great hall. Greater than any she's ever seen before. She imagines it to be used for banquets, even if it is devoid of a table; all that's present are chairs in the centre with backs so high she'd believed they were reserved for royalty. Only two figures occupy them, and it's too dark to make out any of their features. The backs of the chairs obscure the shape of their horns.

     “Unshackle the slave and let her make her own way over to me,” comes a voice, and Darkspurn's heart slams into the front of her chest before she can take in the shape of the words themselves. It's Mindfang. Mindfang's there, so surely everything must be alright. The troll that marched her in does as he's told, and then there's cool air rushing over here skin where metal once was. It feels like more of her skin was encased in iron than it truly was. Darkspurn makes her way over to Mindfang, still slow in her stride, and then utterly freezes in front of her.

     She can make her out, when they're that close to one another. This is Mindfang, there's no doubting that, certainly not from the shape of her horns or the flicker of blue she can see painted on her lips, but it isn't _her_ Mindfang. She's older. Much older than Darkspurn is now, and somehow, the pirate's outfit doesn't look anywhere close to being ridiculous on her. Darkspurn gets the feeling that it isn't all for make believe, and a prickle of coldness rushes over her skin, like it's been waiting to bite at her all along.

     Before she knows it, she's on her knees, and Mindfang has her fingers pushed through her hair. Roughly, but not so much so that it hurts. Darkspurn gets the impression that it isn't her place to yelp out in pain or surprise, but doesn't think she could bring herself to do either, anyway. Mindfang's hand takes hold of her jaw, and it feels like a stranger's. It's not until then that Darkspurn realises she's been terrified all along, and that she's only holding herself together because she's too scared of the consequences of falling apart.

     A thumb presses to her lower lip, and then Mindfang's pushing her lips apart, like she doesn't already know what she's going to find beneath them. When Mindfang sees rows of fangs she grins, and her own light up, but it isn't a warm light cast by the moons. It's a flash that wants to tear right through her.

     Darkspurn breathes out shakily, and her chest seems to tremble. Her hands follow suit, and Mindfang glances down at them with an amused expression; the shaking soon stops. Darkspurn has felt this all before, of course, but it's so feather-light that she barely registers the touch of Mindfang's influence fluttering under her skin. She knows it's there, though, knows how much more Mindfang, this Mindfang, must've used her control on others to hone it so, and feels repulsion rise up in her throat. Her hands move with such ease that she wonders if they're doing so because she wants them to, but then they rest against the fabric around Mindfang's waist, and she knows that she doesn't want this at all, no matter how natural it feels.

     She wants her surroundings to blur out of focus, but Mindfang keeps making her tilt her head back and lock eyes with her. Occasionally, she makes some unimportant remark to whoever's sat in the room with her, but never allows Darkspurn to cast her eyes that way. By this point, Darkspurn's hands are somewhere in the tangle of webs that are Mindfang's petticoats, and the whole of her body burns with the desire to shudder and shake, to tear her hands from Mindfang and flee from the room, never looking back; but she cannot. Mindfang doesn't allow it.

     It's all a dream, Darkspurn tries telling herself over and over. It isn't particularly reassuring when she knows that it's a dream based on reality, though she can still escape from it at any moment she imagines. But she needs to stay there. Just for another minute or two, so that this whole situation can turn itself around, and she can see that this isn't leading where she thinks it is. She desperately needs to be wrong about this, needs Mindfang to laugh in a way that doesn't make her skin crawl and explain all the missing gaps. Despite that, Darkspurn knows that there's no explanation for this, no possible motives that excuse it.

     She tries to look away, and Mindfang forces her to meet her gaze. And then, for the briefest of moments, she sees Mindfang's eyes go wide. Not this Mindfang, the Mindfang that has her on her knees, but the one who holds her hand in the dark and does dramatic readings of her novels for her. The control slips. The room becomes smaller around them, and then the walls crumble.

     The dream fades. The memory remains.

*

     Later, in Mindfang's library.

     Darkspurn's running. She's running because she's never found herself in Mindfang's hive without Mindfang being there, so she can't be alone. Her feet pound against the cold stone floor, and it's not until she's really moving that she realises she wasn't herself in the last bubble. She was older, she had to have been, to be that tall, but none of that matters now. All that matters is getting out of there, but she's so panicked that the library becomes a maze. Every turn she takes leads her to a dead-end, and the bookcases all around her seem to multiply in number until it's no longer feasible to count them. They're tall; too tall to climb.

     “Darkspurn!” she hears a voice. Mindfang's, of course. She hates that her blood runs cold at the sound, hates how she never should she'd be able to use that term in relation to anything she was feeling for Mindfang.

     She runs faster. She grabs books from the shelves as she passes them by, tossing them blindly over her shoulders as she hears footsteps strike the stone behind her. None of them hit Mindfang. She needs to turn and aim to have a chance at taking her down, but she can't bring herself to do that. Can't bring herself to face her. Mindfang is calling after her, begging for her to stop, and the only reason Darkspurn doesn't break down completely is because she knows that Mindfang could force her to grind to a halt, could make stop at any damn moment she wants.

     She tries to tell herself that this isn't the Mindfang from the great hall, that this is her Mindfang, her Mindfang who would never even think to hurt her in such an appalling way, but it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. It was Mindfang. There's no denying that.

     Darkspurn takes a corner, and then another, not realising that she's looped right around on herself. This must be Mindfang's bubble, because it's her hive and she knows the layout while Darkspurn can't begin to piece straight lines together; Mindfang can manipulate paths as she wishes. Darkspurn runs right into her, almost falls back, and then raises both arms. She doesn't know whether she's trying to strike Mindfang or defend herself.

     Mindfang grabs hold of both of her wrists, holding her arms out like a shield between them.

     “Darkspurn!” she says again, loudly, like she can't hear her. Like she needs to get through to her.

     “I can't believe—” Darkspurn begins, forced to take in a deep breath. She knows she can't compose herself for long. She blinks and it's all over, eyes welling up and spilling over. Not knowing what else to do, Mindfang releasing her wrists, and then Darkspurn's crumpled in a heap on the floor. “That'd you'd use me for something like that.”

     Mindfang kneels down by her side. She lifts her hands up as if to place them on her shoulders, but pulls away before she can touch her.

     “Never, Aratoire,” she says firmly, though her voice is tight with desperation, aching for Darkspurn to believe her. “I'd never do something so abhorrent, least of all to you. That woman wasn't me.”

     Darkspurn's shoulders shake, and she brings up her hands, covering her face. Her palms are immediately slick with tears, but even now, even under these conditions, she still feels pathetic for crying. Like Mindfang has any right to dare to judge her. She shakes her head, hears herself mutter _no, no, no_ under her breath, because how can she be expected to deal with this?

     “It doesn't matter if you say that. Because it is you, Mindfang, and it was me. That's what we'll become, or what we've already been. It doesn't matter. The lines have already began to blur.”

*

     Darkspurn recognises this memory the moment it flashes to life before them.

     This is the first time they kissed. It also marks the time she was killed.

     She's gone through a handful of gates already, has managed to take a break from the Land of Dawn and Eventide, and she's in Mindfang's world, fighting by her side. The Land of Sea and Treasure, fittingly, and they smile as they cross blades with the creatures that do their best to thwart them; it's all fun and games here, everything that Mindfang's wanted for the whole of her life. Her own land isn't much different in effect, seeing as it's flooded by soothing sunlight at every moment of the day, never too bright, never too dim.

     But they get ahead of themselves. They become far too confident, and begin to underestimate the foes that they face. In the memory, both of them are far too wrapped up in pretending they know nothing of the future in order to realise that they've already gone through this once before. There's a clattering of steel against steel as Mindfang strikes out with her blade, a sword that's no longer a bulky wooden thing, likely to leave splinters behind, and Darkspurn pauses for just a moment, in order to watch her fight.

     A moment's all it takes. Darkspurn lets her guard down, and there's a great rush of air and something else tearing towards her; she turns too late, and there it is, a harpoon flying from the side of a ship, right for her chest.

     She falls down from the rock she's stood on, landing heavily on a smaller one in its shadow, almost swept out to sea. None of that matters, of course, considering her currently departed state, and Mindfang leaps down after her, shouting out her name as if there's any chance of her hearing it. Mindfang kneels next to her corpse, pulls in her body into her arms, and does the only thing she can think to in that moment: she kisses her. She tries to revive her.

     This isn't the kiss that she counts as their first, however.

     That comes later, when Darkspurn's stood back up of her own accord, staring down in awe at her glowing hands. It's finally happened, the things that all her friends feared, and yet she can't bring herself to even wonder how they'll react. She certainly doesn't have to wonder how Mindfang will react, because she literally flings herself at her, arms around her, lips pressing against her mouth. It isn't even a kiss at first. Not a real one, anyway. It's just Mindfang acting without thinking it through, all the relief she feels at her being alive again, or something close to it, expressed in a physical way. She even laughs against her mouth, a light, happy sound that's so close in pitch to her just breaking down into tears. But Mindfang would never do that, would never let herself cry in front of her, and when Darkspurn wraps her arms around her waist and actually kisses her back, all thoughts of tears are forgotten. That's the moment it becomes real for both of them.

     Back in the bubble, Darkspurn doesn't stop to see Mindfang fight. She knows what she's capable of, and she knows where it's going to get her. Her gaze remains on the ship, and she steps to the side a second before the harpoon launches. It rushes right past her, and Mindfang stops fighting, this time turning to look at Darkspurn.

     Darkspurn barely even sees her; she just stares out blankly at the dim horizon.

     She doesn't think that kiss is going to happen more than once.

*

     It's dark again. Darkspurn's starting to lose track of how much of it she's been exposed to. They aren't her own memories, but at the same time, she's come to learn that they aren't something she can simply step out of. She knows what it is well enough, knows that it's the Scratch's doing. It will be her life, one day, and then she'll be forced to endure the memories in the present, as they happen. Even though they've already happened. She doesn't really know how it works, just assumes that time isn't linear. She floats upon its surface, letting the bubbles take her where they dictate.

     Mindfang isn't here. She doesn't know how she knows that much, but she knows that this bubble is hers alone and feels safer for it.

     Safer, but not safe. She thinks back to the first few bubbles, about how light and effortless reliving life had seemed in them, and reflects on the weight of those she now trundles her way through. They pull her down, chain her to the blackened ground, and she can barely move throughout them, let alone piece the fragments she's shown together. Her throat is dry and she gasps for breath, and Darkspurn wonders how long she's been crying. Perhaps she came into the bubble sobbing and wailing.

     Her friend is dead in her arms. His bright red blood spills over her wrists and hands, and his chest no longer rises and falls, no matter how hard she pounds her fists against it. At least she understands this much. At least she knows why her heart aches as if an arrow has been thrust into her own heart and the steel tip left to rust. This is her friend; and in this world, far more than that. He's all she has, or at least, all that matters. Compared to this, she can't comprehend how what Mindfang will do to her will matter. And so she lets the anguish she feels overflow and pour from her, as her blurred vision traces over his body, like there's some chance that he's going to start moving any moment now. The flesh from his wrists is burnt right through, and the bone shows in the dim light.

     All the while, as she sufferers and grieves, Darkspurn wonders what the bubbles could possibly hold for Mindfang to compare to this.

*

     The two of them are on a tiny fishing boat. The only reason Darkspurn doesn't try to run is because there is nothing but miles and miles of ocean around them, as far as they can see. Darkspurn doesn't recall ever having sailed this far out, but doesn't have the energy to question where the memory has placed them.

     Mindfang stands with her back to her, staring out at the opposite end of the horizon that the very tip of the sun dips under. Darkspurn says nothing, because she has nothing she can or will say to Mindfang, and tries to remember what it was like the first time they came out. The memory is vague, hazy enough to make her believe that this is an accumulation of all the times they came out here to search for treasure, but always ended up with nothing but salt caught in their hair and fish for dinner.

     Those were good times, and not only in retrospect. She may have spent her days silently frustrated at Mindfang's inability to view her from nothing but a friendly perspective, but she had genuinely enjoyed every last moment they spent together. Besides, it had turned out that Mindfang came around in the end, even if it now seems that it would've been better if she didn't. The sea is still beneath them, like a mirror, reflecting the peace of an Alternia long since banished to the black of non-existence.

     Mindfang faces her, eventually. The sun has been gone for close to an hour. She sits down on the opposite seat in their tiny row boat, and their knee caps almost press together. Darkspurn looks up without really meaning to, only intends for it to be a mere glance, but then she sees that the yellow of Mindfang's eyes are bloodshot blue, and that her face looks oddly watery, like a layer or two of it has gone clear. Mindfang holds her gaze, refusing to blink, as if that'll somehow confirm the fact that she's been crying.

     A handful of bubbles ago, Darkspurn would've reached out to run the backs of her fingers across her cheeks, even though they've long since dried. Now she waits for Mindfang to explain herself.

     “He—” Mindfang begins, voice low. She bites back her words, knowing that she needs to explain who this _he_ is. “Dualscar. He was there, in the room with them. Us. He had you executed. I knew he held contempt towards you, born of jealousy, and yet I did nothing to ensure your safety.”

     Mindfang blinks heavily, looking as if she might cry again. Darkspurn can only smile grimly, not certain of what she can say to comfort Mindfang for inadvertently being responsible for her death. It's as if she barely even hears the words at all, because the fact that it's her demise does nothing to affect her. There's been so much death around her that it's just another part of life, something they have to pick themselves back up from and keep on going. And in some cases, she thinks she's right in believing that death might be the better option after all.

     Mindfang's still looking at her. She's been silent for a while, and yet her gaze lingers on her, waiting for her to say something, anything. Darkspurn does her best.

     “Well, at least you become a pirate in the end,” she says, knowing that it won't mean anything to her.

     Mindfang laughs flatly. Her eyes are watery in the moonlights.

     “A pirate, indeed, but not a hero. Not like Vriska was,” she murmurs, and then seems to realise something. “I always wished to be a hero like her, even if not in a war. But now I'll never have the opportunity, and what with my older-self being what she is, the next Vriska will follow on in her heavy footfalls. My ancestor will become my descendant in the new Alternia, and because of the example I set, she'll never have the chance to become all that she could.”

     Darkspurn moves at that. She can't tell whether she pulls Mindfang closer and or pulls herself closer to her, but her arms are wrapped around her nonetheless, immoveable. Mindfang returns the embrace, and Darkspurn finds her face buried in her mess of hair, her heart pounding away for reasons that continue to unsettle her.

     She wishes that she could say something more. She wishes that it was her place to apologise on Mindfang's behalf for all that she'll become, because to her, there's nothing crueller in this universe or any other.

     It'll be the end of them both.

*

     Mindfang and Darkspurn are four. They're playing on the top of Mindfang's castle, out in the open air, pretending that it's a ship. The grass far below is the sea, and the jagged rocks are still rocks. Mindfang wears her first proper pirate outfit, beams when she should be looking fearsome; Darkspurn helped her make it, which roughly means that she put the whole thing together herself. It isn't very good, but Mindfang loves it regardless. It's isn't particularly clear what the plot of their little game is, but there's a daring sword fight at one point, though Darkspurn's role keeps shifting between being Mindfang's enemy, ally and prisoner.

     From in between two towering oaks at the edge of the forest bordering the castle, an older Darkspurn sits, head tilted up so that she can watch them play. She's as old as she'll ever be, and the two bubbles have somehow collided together. Three bubbles, perhaps, because an appropriately aged Mindfang has somehow made her way through the tangle of bushes and tree roots to join her. She stands there apprehensively for a few moments, before taking a seat next to her. Close enough to talk, but not close enough to touch.

     Up on the top of the castle, Redglare leaps out of one of the towers. She declares that she's the very embodiment of the law, there to make certain that the dread pirate Spinneret Mindfang is brought to justice. The smaller of the two Darkspurns quickly defects from whatever role she was temporarily assigned to and joins Redglare's cause. Mindfang, realising that she's outnumbered, hops up onto the wall surrounding the top of the castle, causing Redglare and Darkspurn to cry out in panic, desperately reaching out to her, trying to pull her back. Just as Mindfang's forced down from the wall, she glances over her shoulder, eyes going wide with fear when she realises just how high up they are.

     The Darkspurn on the ground moves away. The Mindfang next to her spreads out her wings. She probably wants to fly up to the very top of her castle that was once hers and pick herself up, so that she'd get to experience flying free without having to pay a price for it.

     Darkspurn smiles faintly at the thought, but keeps her vision focused. She could sit her watching old memories replay for the rest of eternity, given half a chance.

     But then Mindfang gets back to her feet, shoulders rolled back like she's about to make a speech. One boot crushes a twig, and Darkspurn can't help but look up. Ever since she found out her fate as a slave, Mindfang has been desperate to apologise. She hasn't reached out and touched her once, no matter how tactile she usually is, and Darkspurn hates that she has to pay for the sins of another who will later share her name and form but not much else.

     “Look at this. All these worlds that ebb and flow out of our minds, so long as we continue to allow ourselves to think,” Mindfang says, arms stretched out wide, wings moving so fast that they hum. She's still trying too hard to get back to Darkspurn. “They could be ours, Darkspurn. All of these worlds are here for our taking. All we have to do is imagine a better Alternia for ourselves, a better time, and then fate is there to bow down to us.”

     Darkspurn places one hand in the dirt, using it to push herself up. She stands face to face with Mindfang, chases away the fear in the back of her head and thinks: Why not delude myself? She knows that the bubbles won't last forever. She knows that their memories, both shared and separate, can only bend so far before they break, and that their minds are bound to do the same. There's only so long they can stay there before they're decreed to move onto the next incarnation of their universe; they are, in a way, already there. It's all happened before, but it needs to happen again to keep the cycle of time flowing.

     But Darkspurn wants to believe Mindfang. She wants to believe that they can write out their own destinies so very much that she'd be willing to throw all the little parts of herself she tries to keep safe away for it. Her fingers press gently against Mindfang's shoulders, and the skin doesn't burn itself from bone at the contact. With a twitch of her lips, the flicker of a real smile, she pulls Mindfang's hood up, easing it over her horns.

     Leaning forward, she kisses her forehead. Mindfang doesn't move, doesn't react, knowing that it's all the contact Darkspurn can afford for now.

     “Well, I suppose it never hurts to try.”

     Darkspurn steps back, eyes closing. She hears the blood pound in her ears, and wonders if it should technically do that still; the harpoon wound remains torn across her chest, and her skin still buzzes with light and energy. But she focuses on the sound, no matter how real it may or may not be, and then allows herself to open up. Allows thoughts of a better place and time to take over, and then the power flows from her. It's almost like blood spilling from a wound, but there's no pain there. Something leaves her body, but she doesn't feel drained for it.

     She sees Mindfang smile behind the black of her eyelids, not even needing to look at her to know it. She's glad. It's been far too long since she smiled. Darkspurn rolls her shoulders back until the blades jut out, and then stretches her arms up, to the sides, clenches her fists and opens them again over and over. It's done. She's ready.

     Darkspurn opens her eyes, and in the same moment, her feet leave the ground. Her jade-green wings beat behind her, the wind rushes in between her hair and her hood and sounds all the louder for it, but she's free, soaring high up in the sky. Mindfang doesn't waste any time in joining her. They tear through the night sky, high above the castle. Their younger selves look up at them, eyes wide, lips parted in amazement, and Redglare asks them what they're looking at; she says she can't smell anything up there.

     As she leaves a blazing trail of pure white light, Mindfang follows in her wake, wings fluttering all the harder to keep up with her, and for a moment, it's almost like it's real. They never flew in the sky back on Alternia, before the game. They never left the ground so far beneath them, never acted precisely because it wasn't their time to move so freely, but not caring because of it.

     Mindfang reaches out to her, and Darkspurn entwines their fingers together. They both imagine this new world they'll live in at the same moment, both pour all of their thoughts into the small space left between them. And though they know that they can't change their lives, and that their fates are already inscribed on their very bones, as they tear through the sky, high above the stone grey clouds, creating a moon of their own to aim for, for a moment, they are as gods.


End file.
